Only Victory
by Fierceawakening
Summary: Doesn't quite fit any continuity, but I borrow Clench from IDW. Young Megatron thinks only of victory, and disdains the pleasures of his comrades. Until his commander takes interest, and he learns how sex and power mix. M for spark-sex & poss. dub-con.


Megatron twisted his frame through the complex exercise, struggling to hold the proper position. These forms had had been devised with someone far smaller and lighter in mind. And after many repetitions, he'd begun to feel - and, on one occasion, hear - internal parts grinding against one another as his large frame struggled to reproduce the fluid motions.

Most would say he was glitched for even trying something like this. _But only the complacent never test their limits_, he reminded himself, spinning out of the position he held and into another, as quickly as he dared. His large frame made him imposing and strong. It also slowed him down.

Which led to these - still imperfect, from the pain in a few of his joints - adaptations of the lighter mechs' fighting forms. He would never be able to move like them, no, but with careful enough study and clear enough focus, he could learn something about moving more efficiently and gracefully.

It would come in handy not only against smaller opponents, but also against opponents his size. If in other respects he and another mech were evenly matched, but he was a shade faster or moved just a bit more smoothly, that alone could grant him victory.

And the pleasure of victory was the only one he granted himself.

He was not alone in that. He'd known some so single-mindedly bent on their own ambitions they had no time for anything but endless fights. And they delighted in it, of course, seeing their enemy crumpled and broken in front of them, hearing others speak their names with fear and awe.

He spun again, landing as lightly as he could. He chuckled to himself. Another might have snapped something, attempting that move. Or fallen. He had not.

It wasn't fear or awe that Megatron wanted. He had those already. They came automatically with success, with ambition carefully honed and tightly controlled.

The others let their desires master them, whether they wanted rank or passion or both. He used his.

Twisting through another move, he noticed the other mech watching him. He frowned, straightening up, his red optics flaring as the other approached. Clench outranked him for now, and it wouldn't do to ignore him.

The barbed head nodded in Megatron's direction.

"Commander," Megatron responded.

"You've been out here a long time," the other commented, his deep voice amused. Megatron merely nodded.

"The others are all making the most of their free time," the dark mech continued. "And you are out here."

Megatron met his superior's optics. He couldn't insult Clench directly. But Clench was, apparently, insulting him for not behaving like those under him. And those mechs, he could say anything he wanted to about. "I have no use for the things the others do to celebrate. Such indulgence is merely a distraction."

"Is it now?" the other purred, coming closer. "Surely those who have proven themselves worthy deserve some enjoyment."

Megatron flinched as the purple hand laid itself on his shoulder. Clench felt the small movement, his faceplates twisting into a fierce grin. He ran his hand lightly over Megatron's shoulder.

Megatron's hands tightened into fists as he tensed. Superior or not, Clench had no right to touch him like that.

Still, there was fierce warmth in the fingers skipping along his plating. Megatron shivered again, fighting not to lean into the touch.

A rumble of approval answered him. "So you are interested." Clench chuckled, tracing his hand down to the other mech's chest.

Megatron watched it warily, its movement stirring feelings he'd chosen long ago to push aside. But now his spark twitched faintly within its housing in his chest, lancing heat through his circuitry in spite of himself.

He cursed himself inwardly, realizing he had made a mistake. Denying himself for so long had, apparently, intensified his response. For spark's sake, this was _Clench _- formidable in battle, certainly, but hardly attractive apart from that. And Megatron was not the kind to enjoy being ordered to serve, as some did.

"Or is that curious?" Clench went on, smirking. His hand rested just above the center of the younger mech's chest. There was no way he could not be aware of the heat building just below his hand. "Given what they say about you."

Megatron grabbed the purple wrist, just tightly enough to hurt it. Just tightly enough that he could deny such intent if he had to - or clamp tighter around it if playing the commander's game grew more tedious than prudent.

"And what is it they say about me?" Megatron answered, no longer bothering to hide his contempt.

The surge of desire he felt as he spat the words bothered him far less than his response to Clench's touch had. Passion that arose from conflict, he understood.

He smiled slowly. Perhaps the desire he felt would not prove wholly a weakness after all.

Clench stepped even closer, ignoring the other mech's tight grip on his hand. He leaned in, his pointed face nearly touching Megatron's.

"I have seen you in battle and out of it. You should have your pick of the base. Yet I've never encountered anyone who claims to have interfaced with you." He laughed again. "Some say you never have."

Megatron's hand tightened around the other's wrist. "And you're listening to them? It's hardly my fault if they're more interested in gratifying their baser instincts than in honing their skills. And, apparently, in gossiping about it all later."

Clench's optics narrowed, but he made no other response to the pain. "That's as good as a confession. Though you don't seem in the least bit ashamed."

He huffed, puffs of air escaping his vents. _Is that surprise? _Megatron wondered. _Confusion? Or admiration?_

Then Clench drew his hand away. Still watching him carefully, Megatron let him.

"Should I be? Only victory matters. Only the glory of Cybertron... and us."

"Indeed. But as I said before, surely such clarity of purpose deserves to be rewarded."

The freed hand wrapped itself around Megatron's helm, drawing him into a fierce kiss.

Megatron froze. His spark swirled at the contact. He shuddered again, opening his mouth, as heat crackled through his chest and spread through his circuitry.

The younger mech narrowed his optics as the feeling darted through him, silvery as electricity. How long had it been since he'd permitted himself to think of this? And now it was happening, desire rising in him in spite of all his proofs against it, as natural a feeling as the heat that sparked through his frame when he fought.

Growling his approval, Clench wrapped his other arm around Megatron, pressing them together. Megatron could no longer tell whether the heat he felt in his chest came from his own spark, tilting madly within its housing, or whether it came from the other mech.

"That's it," Clench whispered, breaking the kiss, his rough voice deep and resonant. "Go ahead. Let yourself go. You've earned it."

_Let myself go?_ Megatron's mind snapped back into focus. He stared into the other's optics, red like his own. So that was what Clench wanted. To see his promising young lieutenant, his rising star, finally give in to someone. To him.

He could fight, he realized. Like Megatron himself, Clench was a warrior among warriors, and had earned his rank by defeating enemies and allies alike. But it had been a long time since anyone had truly challenged him, while the young mech's abilities were keenly and freshly honed. It would be a great fight and a long one, with quarter neither asked nor given. It would be exhilarating.

And, in the end, Megatron would win it. That, he knew as surely as he knew his own name.

But now was not the time. Clench had suggested he learn what he was missing. There was wisdom in that advice, whatever the commander's reason for giving it. Once this was over and done, Megatron would know what the others so delighted in. He would have reasons - real ones - for denying himself.

_Or,_ a part of him whispered, _for indulging. If it's possible to do so without interfering in the pursuit of power._

Staring back at Clench, he snarled a wordless answer. Clench laughed at his defiance and, to the younger mech's surprise, drew back a step, as though he needed room for something.

Then, as Megatron watched, the commander's chest plates parted, exposing the brilliant light of his pulsing spark.

Megatron's spark lurched so hard in response that he nearly fell forward. He could hear his commander laughing at that, an ugly sound of triumph.

The younger mech could barely hear it. To his own disquiet, he found himself staring at the bright circle of light in the center of the other's chest, unable to tear his optics away.

Why was this happening? He had seen sparks before: the sparks of fallen enemies, their light shining through cracks in the plating that protected them. He had watched, expressionless or eager as the case demanded, as those glimpses of light flared their last and then faded away entirely. Why, when he had watched lives end many times, was he unable to look away from this spark, whole and healthy and crackling its desire?

He felt his own chest plates tremble, eager to move aside. With a great effort, he willed them to remain shut a moment longer, then finally allowed them to draw away, opening his spark to the other's.

Clench snickered. Megatron frowned at the sound and began to speak.

Then the words were driven from him, as a bolt of white-hot energy lanced from the dark mech's spark directly into his, the force of it throwing him backwards.

It seared him, bright and terrible, so intense that Megatron tossed his head and howled in something like pain.

Then there was heat, his spark heavy, overfull with the combined energies of himself and the other, desire spinning through him, half Clench's, half his own.

He held it, his audios filling with the sound of his fans whirring on. It swirled within him, twisting over and over inside his chest, the pain of the initial assault becoming a fierce ecstasy, bolts of energy coursing through him, filling him with a pleasure he had never known before. He was himself and yet not himself, doubled, strengthened, made mighty.

He was more than he had been before, and he exulted in it, his cry of agony becoming a roar of triumph.

"More," he growled. "Give me more."

Then he saw the glow in Clench's optics. The fool was laughing at him.

He cursed himself again. He had fallen for it. He had put himself at the commander's mercy, nearly begged for something the other could offer or withhold entirely at his whim. That wasn't victory. That was slavery. That was not power. That was losing oneself to a delusion.

With a snarl, Clench hurled another bolt of energy. Snarling, Megatron forced himself to remain standing as he received it. It burned through him as the other had, filling his vision with white and causing his optics to flicker. Once more its heat consumed him, the elation speeding through him, making him forget everything but the pleasure he felt.

_One more, _he thought, _and I will overload._

_One more, and Clench will have his victory._

Gritting his dental plates against the emotion threatening to overwhelm him, he gathered the combined energy and held it. Tendrils lanced from it toward the other mech, blindly seeking contact. His spark careened as if wholly independent of his will, whirling like a mad thing, scorching him.

He laughed, his own voice faint in his audios over the crackling of his twisting spark. "This is pleasant, Commander," he said, forcing the words from his vocalizer. "But I am not here for the pleasures of the sybaritic. I am here only for victory."

With a great cry, he set the energy free, both Clench's and his own bursting forth from him in a torrent of light, speeding with neither pause nor pity into the other's chest.

Clench cried out as it hit, his vocalizer emitting a high yowl of need or pain or both. He staggered back, falling to his knees under its assault.

Snarling, Megatron shoved him down.

Clench glowered up at the young mech, first in bewilderment and then in rage. He twisted in Megatron's grip, but Megatron held firm.

Now a new elation sang through Megatron, one he knew well: the ecstasy of conquest and control. He paused a moment, letting it thrill through him as the mingled spark-energies had moments ago, gathering and holding it.

Then he launched another bolt of energy into the squirming thing beneath him. This time, the energy was all his, all his own, his life force rushing forth to claim what it had vanquished.

The thing beneath him shivered once and cried out again. The spark in its chest, overfull, unable to hold the energy Megatron was pouring into it, flared brilliantly once as Clench overloaded, the energy bursting forth from him.

Triumph sang through Megatron's circuits as he watched. He did not know if he would overload or not. It was beside the point to care. From now on, he would allow himself this pleasure alone. It was far more than enough for him.

Then the ring of energy blasting forth from Clench's spark reached his. His vision filled with white, and he knew nothing but the light, scouring and remaking him.

And that he had won.

As the heat and light overcame him, he smiled.


End file.
